


You'll be my saviour

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-15
Updated: 2007-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Lyrics from 'Downfall', by Matchbox 20, requested by ladyveela84@livejournal.com.</p>
    </blockquote>





	You'll be my saviour

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from 'Downfall', by Matchbox 20, requested by ladyveela84@livejournal.com.

_I want you to believe in me  
I want you on my side_

Pete felt a tap in the top of his head and tilted his head back to rest on the back of the plush black sofa, blinking a little blearily as long blonde hair fell in in curtains around the side of his face. Ashlee peered down at him, upside down, and he gave her a slow, sleepy smile.

"It's Patrick." She handed him the phone. She made to move and then paused, still hovering over him as a slight smile touched the edges of her mouth; seemingly on impulse, she bent to kiss him on the chin, making a face at the stubble found there.

"I didn't hear the phone." He wasn't surprised that he didn't. He had been watching news, simultaneuously lulled and unsettled by the normalcy of the depressing stories: murder, murder, murder, war, war, war, sleazy politics, fast life in Hollywood and New York... he gave a wry mental shake of his head. He was a part of that fast-life now; maybe one of its biggest benefactors. He liked it. It matched the rush of his brain.

"Of course you didn't," she said lightly and headed off in the direction of the kitchen. He didn't think there was much in the fridge. Neither of them hardly cooked; he doubted he had any pots, anyway. She'd probably order in, or they'd go out to eat, walking through a wall of flashing-light and ("Ashlee! Pete!") sound just to get to their table.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, tucking the cordless phone between his ear and his shoulder and listened for a minute. He could hear music on Patrick's end, layers and layers of it, rich and intense. Despite this, Patrick made an exasperated sound, a low curse and the music stopped abruptly. He was muttering to himself, faint clicks punctuating his words and the music started up again. Patrick sang along with the track, softly, the slightly hoarse tinge in his voice lacing comfortably into Pete's mind.

He cleared his throat.

"Hey."

"Oh, hey." Patrick gave a little chuckle and the music was switched off again. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Uh, nothing."

They descended into fairly mundane small talk, gossip and jokes that Pete had heard while waiting for interviews to start. Music. Musicians. Life, love, happiness.

Pete thought they were rolling pretty great, they hadn't just chatted like this in a long time.

And then Patrick said, "So. You and Ashlee went shopping."

"So the dude takes the stick and just... what?" Pete had lain down fully on the sofa during their conversation, both legs drawn up, one bare ankle resting atop the opposite knee. He stared up at the ceiling and held onto the phone more securely. "Wait, repeat that."

"It's nothing," Patrick said in that tone of voice that indicated that it was more than nothing and Pete felt his lips tighten. "Well."

"Yeah," Pete said flatly. "Well?"

After a considering pause, Patrick continued. "Well... I just thought we'd said that it'd be you and Ashlee, just at the parties and stuff. The high visibility stuff."

"Shopping is pretty high visibility," Pete joked. "We bought a lot of shit."

Patrick remained silent.

"But, you know, I'd want to shop with you. Anytime. You know that." They had both agreed to it, in fact: until Patrick felt comfortable displaying their relationship, Ashlee was a willing stand-in. Pete had been in the peculiar position of torn between wanting to shout to the whole world how he felt, how they _both_ felt, and giving Patrick his heart's desire. When it came down to the wire, it had been a fairly easy decision to give Patrick anything he wanted. Even if it made Pete feel shitty and incomplete.

"Patrick?" Pete murmured into the silence that was stretching out, unspooling darkly between them. "You there, man?"

"I'm here," Patrick replied shortly. "Just. Whatever." He sighed, the exhalation sounding noisily in the phone. "Yeah. So, later."

Abruptly, he hung up and Pete pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the tiny holes neatly dotting the earpiece, as if they had any answers for him. He felt a confused anger start to curdle in him and he tamped down on it. He considered calling him back and then shook his head, deciding no. Give him space for few hours. Let whatever was eating Patrick be sorted out by the singer himself.

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna make a sandwich," Ashlee informed him from the kitchen. "You want one?"

"What kind is it?"

"Chicken."

"Of the sea?" Pete asked seriously and then spoiled the whole effect by snickering. Ashlee peered at him through the space in the wall over the eating counter, her expression wry.

"Yeah, Pete. 'Cause that was funny for, like, four minutes. You want one or not?"

"Yeah, sure." Pete chuckled even more. "As long is it's not fish."

"I don't know how Patrick stands you," she said and then gave him a probing glance as his laughter trickled down to nothing and he went back to staring at the television.

 

***

 _Here we go again  
Ashamed of being broken in_

Patrick hung up the phone and gazed at the bright screen of the Mac, not seeing the music program waiting patiently to be resumed. One part of him, the rational side, unhelpfully pointed out that it was he who had been unwilling to out himself so soon. Sometimes, he could hardly deal with his life as it was now. Being in a public relationship with not only another dude, but Pete Wentz, would honestly reduce his experience of life from _circus_ to _fiasco_. Ashlee's father had wanted some sort of safe constant companion, closer than a bodyguard, more objective than an assistant, who knew what it was like to be at the recieving end of gossip and rumour. Patrick wasn't quite sure that Pete fit whatever criteria Joe Simpson outlined (but knowing Joe, maybe he did), but so far, it had worked out fairly well.

 _Too well_ , a bitter voice put in. _You saw how they were in those pictures. They looked perfect. You're too ashamed and afraid. And now, you're jealous_.

Patrick, who was mostly comfortable with self-analysis, frowned at this. He wasn't usually the jealous type. He was the easygoing guy, the self-effacing dude, the one who did what he had to do and did it fairly well. He had no time for jealousy.

Of course, that was before he had wanted Pete so bad, it felt like fire in his veins. Running alongside that surprising desire had been shock that he'd be so anxious to be with him. It had gone against everything he had thought he was; it had taken him and turned everything upside down and what was simultaneously astonishing, infuriating and amazing was that Pete said he felt the same way. Patrick felt he could have dealt with it, all of it, if Pete didn't didn't have a clue. Patrick knew what unrequited was. He could live with it, get over it; but Pete had simply given him a long look one day, a searching glance after they had been arguing over something minor.

And Pete, being Pete, had given him a kiss. A real one, not just one that was a playful peck on the cheek or on the top of his hat. Pete had backed him into a secluded corner, eyed his mouth as if he were an archaeologist surveying a successful dig and then _kissed_ him. Patrick's brain had tried to come to terms with stubble and a firm body pressed against his and then given in completely to the sensation of Pete's tongue stroking questioningly against his. Pete had tasted like coffee and Patrick had found himself making small, eager noises and pressing back into him, rocking hips against hips, one hand curled insistently around the nape of Pete's neck, tilting his head and urging the kiss deeper.

It was probably the best first kiss that Patrick had ever taken part in.

It was also one of the most nerve-wracking experiences ever.

 _Because you thought he'd pull away and decide you were wrong, that you were both wrong,_ the bitter voice continued as Patrick re-started the music programme with jerky movements. _You thought he'd decide to file you under 'Dudes I Kissed Once', and leave it right there. And you were ok with that._

Yeah, he had been more than okay with that.

 _Who knew that Pete would decide that you were enough? Who knew that he'd want to jump right into being with you all the time? And who knew you weren't even close to being ready for that?_

"Not me," Patrick said aloud, using the mouse to pull the seeking button to the start of the track. "Now, if these voices in my head will just fuck off, I have some work to do."

***

 _I want you to agree with me  
I want so much, so bad_

Patrick sang.

He could hear everything through the earpiece. He was in the correct key, he was enunciating fairly well, he sounded clear. Three out of three, awesome. His body was on auto-pilot though, for the majority of his brain function was bent on keeping that irrational side of him from seething.

Patrick knew nearly all his failings. He recognised that he had a massive sweet-tooth. He knew he was more stubborn than people thought he was. And he was what his father might call a jealous bastard.

"Son, you're kind of an asshole and a quiet one at that," his father had told him once, contemplatively, after they had had some discussion relating to his father's departure from the house when Patrick was a kid. "That's probably the most dangerous type there is. I feel if you got really mad, you might take my head off and not feel too cut up about it."

"I learnt from the best," Patrick had said and they had smiled at each other in a grim manner.

His father was right, though. Patrick had the capacity to be a pretty big asshole, bigger than Pete, and that was saying something; but he couldn't be blamed, not really, not with Pete spinning himself and his bass around onstage, and throwing wide grins at Ashlee as she stood in the wings.

Fuck it all, really.

When Pete had been escorted backstage earlier, Patrick had actually grinned outright, feeling genuine happiness bloom inside upon seeing his very own jerk, his Pete. Pete's hair was long, but Patrick liked it that way and he looked a little thinner, even in the few days they'd been apart; once this tour started properly, though, they'd be falling into those awful eating patterns that made Andy rage and he'd fill out once more.

"Sup!" Pete had crowed cheerfully as he bounded into the room and Patrick felt the smile freeze on his face as Ashlee walked in behind him, a small smile on her own face, arms crossed over her chest. She had tilted her chin at him quickly, greeted everyone and then looked around with a blank expression. It wasn't a vapid look. Not at all; it was the look of a person who wanted to _appear_ vapid. It was pretty clever, actually. People discounted you, the same way they did if you were quiet. You had the element of surprise when people thought you were _stupid_.

Patrick, who had years and years of people underestimating him because he chose when he wanted to let his mouth run, recognised that expression. It was the look of a person with some sort of plan.

From the way she literally brightened up when Pete spoke or looked at her, Patrick had pretty much figured out what her plan was, even if it was something subconcious.

Therefore, the direct cause of him _seething_ while he was supposed to be _performing_.

"That was... good," Joe said as they changed backstage after the show finished. "We did good, my bitches. You are all dismissed. Take a break, on me."

"Hmm." Patrick draped his towel over his head. The crowd had been noisily appreciative, but the atmosphere on-stage had been cool.

"Shut up," Andy told Joe affectionately. He gave Pete and Patrick a sidelong look, brown eyebrows raised. Pete was seated on a wooden bench in the corner, still dressed in his on-stage gear. He wasn't moving, just looking at Patrick. "I need some rest, I'm seriously glad we're getting another break before the tour starts. Bus rolls out soon," he said to no-one in particular and then walked out, followed by Joe, who was searching his pockets for a lighter as he exited. Patrick dressed slowly as the rest of their crew bustled in and out of the large room, the activity lessening each moment. But still, Pete didn't move. Patrick could feel the weight of his stare.

"Hey," Pete said suddenly, pulling the word into a long, warm sound and Patrick turned around, surprised at his tone. Then, he spotted Ashlee giving that small smile of hers and walking in delicately as Pete beckoned to her, patting the space on the seat beside him.

"That was a great show," she told both of them as she sat down, sitting close to Pete. "It was _loud_."

"That's the thing with all our shows," Pete informed her. "We aim to break your eardrums, so you don't know how awful we are live."

"I don't think that worked," Ashlee said, laughing a little. "Because you all sounded amazing. Especially you, Patrick." She raised her voice a little and Patrick turned his head in their direction, smiling half-heartedly. Turning back his head to the shelf where his glasses were, he heard Ashlee ask something in a low voice and then Pete responded.

"I'll see you later, then. Later, Patrick."

"Take care," Patrick said in a tone that indicated that it didn't matter to him if she took care or not. Pete waited until the door closed behind her before getting up, stretching, and then sauntering over to where Patrick was trying to stuff his belongings into a messenger bag.

"So," Pete said, taking up a CD and peering at it. "What was that all about? The show, I mean. We can get to the other shit later."

"What are you talking about?" Patrick reached out to take the CD, but Pete pulled his arm back, keeping it away. Patrick's gaze shifted from the disc to Pete's face, only now realising the angry, unhappy glint in his eye.

"I mean, you singing as if you don't want to sing. Seriously not cool, Stump. No, for real."

"What, a person can't have an off-day?" Patrick leaned close, grabbing for the CD irritably, but Pete simply turned, his hip tucking into Patrick's crotch. Pete gave him a mirthless grin as Patrick stepped back. "I mean. You have off-days all the time."

"Yeah, sure. But not with the _words_ , dude. Usually, you sing them like you... _believe_ in them, I dunno."

"Oh _god_." Patrick turned back to his bag in annoyance. "Don't. I'm too tired right now to reassure you of the immeasurable worth of your words and how awesome they really are. They're just words. Get over it."

There was a long silence and Patrick risked a look at Pete's face; it was pulled into sharp lines, his dark eyes glittering.

"Give me my notebook then," Pete said tightly. Patrick had a fleeting moment of trying to think if they were arguing over the right thing. He was far too busy being irrational, however and he dug through his bag, locating the battered notebook and shoving it at Pete.

"There they are, your _words_ ," he said low. "What else do you have? No, seriously. What else? Looks? Amazing bassist skills?"

There he was, asshole Patrick, in all his glory. Amazing how easily he could crawl out of that dark place in Patrick's heart, maybe from that chamber right next-door to that part he had given to Pete. He tightened his lips, watching as Pete did the same before he took the book slowly, placed the CD in Patrick's hands and then stalked out of the room, not even changing his clothes.

 

***

 _I'll be your downfall_

"He's just being a bitch," Pete said as he lay flat on his back. "Fuck, he's _always_ been a bitch, don't let him fool you." He closed his eyes as long fingers stroked through his hair, dipping in to massage his scalp. His head was cushioned in Ashlee's lap, the TV turned on to BBC World News. "I think we were kinda off-topic."

"Okay." Ashlee's fingers pressed soothingly into his head. He felt muscles melt down his back, legs, neck. "What was the topic, then?"

"Me and him," Pete answered automatically. "You and me. Round and round like a fucking merry-go-round."

"I've never been on one of those." Ashlee smiled down at him as the news anchor droned on in that cute British accent. "I swear, just looking at them will make me sick."

"Patrick hates roller-coasters," Pete said, a little brightly. "You try get him on one, he tries to pinch your skin off."

"You told me."

Pete smiled at this. He spoke about Patrick all the time, so much so that he had once asked Ash if she minded. She had said no, but sometimes she got a little exasperated pinch between her eyebrows when he went on too long. He actually really liked her. He claimed she was his most fave Ashlee in the world; she made life a little easier, actually. He wondered what she thought about acting like a front until Patrick got the balls to... well, to just not care.

"Can I ask you something?" Ashlee asked and then went right ahead. "Why do you... you know, why are you still with him if he doesn't want to be with you?"

"He does," Pete defended. "No, yeah. He does. Just not... not publicly. Not yet. I guess he has his own issues to sort out. I'm his first boyfriend," he pointed with not a little pride and Ash rolled her eyes.

"He hates me, you know," she said, twirling the ends of his hair between her thumb and finger. "One day he's going to murder me."

"Then that's kinda unfair of him, if he does. I mean, we agreed. On everything."

She thought about it a little, wrinkling her nose. "Well... love isn't really fair, right? Not all the time."

 _Right_ , Pete thought. _Sometimes love was really unfair_. Ashlee was looking down at him with soft, open eyes. Suddenly, he felt as if she just... bent forward, just a bit and pressed her lips to his, he might kiss her back.

"I'm in love with him," Pete said hoarsely, reminding himself as her fingers traced slowly down the side of his face, across his cheekbones.

"I know," Ashlee said, smiling lopsidedly. "Which is what I meant by love being _super_ unfair."

 

***

 _Lay it down  
Ive always been with you_

"I'm not just the motherfucking bassist," Pete said flatly as Patrick opened his apartment door in the middle of the night to his insistent knocks. "You hear that? I know I'm not awesome in the general way like you, but seriously. More to me than that."

"What," Patrick said thickly. "It's, it's like one in the morning. One. Okay?"

"You implied that I didn't have much use." Pete pushed his way in. "But I'm the _frontman_. I take all the attention from you and let you do what you want in peace. I have my purpose. Don't damage my ego like that again. I like my ego intact."

"I have no idea--"

"Yeah, you do. Tell me you love me," Pete said suddenly, turning to face him, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as discarded paper from Patrick's earlier work crackled under his feet. "And I'm tired of hiding."

Patrick blinked at him.

"You should be done freaking out by now," Pete said softly, advancing on him. "I don't want anyone else but you, okay? I really like Ash, I might even love her and we'd be great together, but you drive me fucking crazy and I can't get enough of you." He paused, standing right in front of Patrick. "Tell me you love me."

"You can't _force_ me to say it," Patrick said, or at least he tried to, but Pete made an exasperated sound and kissed him. Hard.

"Tell me my fucking words mean _something_ to you," Pete muttered as they broke apart, breathing harshly. "That you sing them mostly because I'm the one that writes them."

"Well, yeah, but I--" Patrick began again and moaned as Pete kissed most of the surliness out of him. God.

"Tell me one day you're going to kiss me, just like this, on-stage and you're not going to give a fuck. Or, or, you know what? I'll just hold you down and do it myself, you know I will."

Pete kept kissing him, dragging him down to the sofa, hands warm and persistent, dragging up the hem of his t-shirt and running quick fingers over sensitive skin.

"Pete," Patrick groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as Pete ground down against him, the both of them hard and hot against each other.

"I love you," Pete told him, as Patrick arched up, hungry for more of the touching. "Seriously. I always have. Now, tell me."

If Pete was going to fuck it out of him, that would be cool. Granted, they'd never done it before, but it would be really cool in Patrick's books. Pete had pushed up his shirt and was sucking on one nipple and Patrick bit his lip, because if he said it _now_ , it would his dick doing most of the talking, even if it was a universal truth.

So he said it later. Kind of.

"So, I was being an asshole," he said in a roundabout apology after Pete dragged them into bed, stripped down to almost nothing and making the place too warm with his body-heat. "Wait, just, take off this comforter, I'm fucking hot. No, leave that pillow, that's mine. Yeah, what was I saying?"

"That my words are super amazing and you love me so much, you might kill Ashlee one day."

"I've never even thought of doing that," Patrick lied smoothly. "I mean, wow. Murder, not my strong point. At all."

"And that one day, real soon, you'll be walking hand in hand with me in public while we shop for his-and-his towels."

Patrick thought on this deeply.

"Just remember, you love me," Pete said sleepily.

"That's true," Patrick said, and contemplated his ceiling as Pete held onto him tightly.

 _fin_


End file.
